


Coda: Politics, Petrol-Tanks And Portraits (1990-1999)

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 221B [318]
Category: Frozen (2013), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural, Tangled (2010)
Genre: Airports, Alternate Universe - 1990s, Death from Old Age, F/M, Family, Love, M/M, Nobility, Politics, Portraits, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Supernatural Elements, Theft, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2019-12-25 20:47:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18269105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: ֍ The Holmes and Watson lineages continued; the naughty nineties. Shere Holmes starts out on a life of crime-solving, Sherlock Watson finds that his beloved is the salt of the earth, a man's last request is fulfilled, there are a lot of Tobiases although with good reason and British politics is no longer Frozen – or even Tangled - in the past.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jaid_diah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaid_diah/gifts).



_(Baron Harry Hawke II, forty-six, is the great-great-grandson of Sherlock Holmes I. Harry's nephew the four-year-old Shere Holmes seems to have inherited certain detective abilities.....)._

**1990**

**Brunton Hall, Collingbourne Kingston, Wiltshire**

The new baron looked around his country seat and sighed. The deaths within six months of first his grandfather and then his father had brought the title to him sooner than he had expected, and although he had known it would happen he had expected to have rather more years to prepare. It had seemed particularly unfair on his poor father who had had to wait his whole life to be Baron Hawke for less than half a year.

Harry's brother-in-law Christian Holmes came into the main room.

“Mary said to ask you; any luck finding out who took the missing Turner?” he asked. “That painting was worth a fortune.”

The nobleman shook his head and was about to answer when a voice came up from one of the high-backed chairs around the fireplace.

“It was the gardener, sir.”

They both looked in surprise as Christian's young son Shere peered at them from his chair. The boy was both tall and broad, the nobleman thought, and looked closer to double his actual age.

“What do you mean, Shere?” the nobleman asked. 

“It had to be”, the boy said. “No-one else could have done it.”

Both men just stared at him. The boy sighed and gave them the sort of look that children have long given exasperating adults down the ages.

“I was here when the police talked to him”, Shere said. “The sergeant didn't mind as I said I am going to be a policeman one day. Cooper said that he never went into the house. He lied.”

“How can you know that?” his father asked.

“He has those shoes that leave a funny mark”, the boy said. “I found a footprint from them.”

“But why didn't the police find that?” Lord Harry asked.

“Because he took his boots off and left them in the porch by the back door”, Shere explained. “There was a fresh print under the shoe-stand there but what reason would he have had to come in that way? The servants' entrance is round the side.”

Lord Harry blinked at the little genius. He wondered if he could possibly be right.

֍

He was.

֍


	2. Chapter 2

_(Christopher 'Kristoff' Macdonald and Eugene Fitzherbert, both forty-two, have been in charge of Mr. Campbell Kerr's molly-house empire since they gradually took over from Fraser Macdonald II between 1970 and 1974)._

**1992**

**Brighton, East Sussex, England**

The vote had been close and there had had to be a recount, but it had changed things only by a dozen or so votes. It had made for a tense night however as what should have been one of the first seats to declare turned out to be one of the last:

_”I, the acting Returning Officer for the constituency of Brighton Central, hereby give notice that the total number of votes cast for each candidate at the election held today was as follows:”_   
_”Paul Acton, Independent, 101.”_   
_”James Cannock, Labour, 15,650.”_   
_”Eugene Fitzherbert, Conservative, 16,044.”_   
_”Margaret Smith-Betts, Green Party, 5,118.”_   
_”Janet Trent, Liberal Democrat, 4,824.”_   
_”I hereby declare that the aforementioned Mr. Eugene Fitzherbert is duly elected as the member for this constituency.”_

Kris did not even hesitate before stepping forward and kissing his partner openly, eliciting a few tuts of disapproval but rather more in the way of applause.

“An openly gay MP”, Eugene grinned, “and one running a chain of male brothels. Though thank the Lord that idiot Kinnock had his victory rally† before the election, specially with a less than four hundred margin. Now I'm an MP I can establish myself here, and then come home to my adorable beanpole every night!”

Behind them their twins Cholmondeley and Chatton were both making vomiting motions. Kris ignored them in favour of kissing his man again.

֍

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> † Labour had been expected to narrowly win the 1992 election, but a poor campaign was topped off by party leader Neil Kinnock holding a victory rally in Sheffield - the weekend _before_ the election!


	3. Chapter 3

_(The late Benjamin Watson II (1911-1995) had been the grandson of the original John Watson and the first owner of 'Elementary' after the idjits departed for Heaven. His eldest son Sherlock, now fifty-nine, is the current owner)._

**1995**

**Casdene, East Sussex, England**

Sherlock Watson had never been overly fond of people, but his father's funeral had been an ordeal and then some. He had appreciated just how stressed he had become when Nick, who almost never left the village these days, insisted on coming with him to the thing much as he knew the fellow hated anything remotely formal. His own family was tolerable enough in small does but some of his mother's relatives – she had been all too right when she had said afterwards that some of them should have been put forward for the first manned mission to Mars.

Nick took him home in a soothing silence and they re-entered their cottage with simultaneous sighs of relief. Sherlock smiled as his lover went immediately to run him a bath; he knew how a long soak 'in those girly bath bombs of mine that you say you don't really like' always relaxed him especially as the bath was easily big enough to take both of them. He was nearly sixty now and Nick not far short of seventy, but they had never been together for just the sex. They loved each other more than enough to know what was needed and when, and that was worth even Great-Aunt Diana's sniffing loudly at the two of them placing a rose on his father's coffin.

“I hope she broke down on the way back to London and had to thumb a lift”, Sherlock sighed as he made coffee for the two of them. “Nick? Where's the salt gone? I thought we had a whole tin.”

His lover turned off the bath taps before sticking his head around the door.

“In some badly-dressed relative's petrol-tank?” he said, blushing slightly.

Sherlock shook his head at the bastard. He was so damn lucky!

֍


	4. Chapter 4

**1997**

**Brighton, East Sussex, England**

Eugene silently thanked the Gods for his lover, standing close beside him. The election campaign had been dreadful; he had felt like giving up more than once given the party's terrible performance but Kris had pushed him to keep going and the increasingly Bohemian nature of his constituency, coupled with boundary changes that had improved his odds slightly, had kept him going. Still it had gone to two recounts and the margin had gotten smaller each time. 

_”I, the acting Returning Officer for the constituency of Brighton Regency, hereby give notice that the total number of votes cast for each candidate at the election held today was as follows:”_   
_”Penelope Bright, Green Party, 6,344.”_   
_”Stephen Cooper, Liberal Democrat, 1,994.”_   
_”Mishal Hussain, Labour, 16,231.”_   
_”Eugene Fitzherbert, Conservative, 16,287.”_   
_”I hereby declare that the aforementioned Mr. Eugene Fitzherbert is duly elected as the member for this constituency.”_

Kris once more stepped forward and kissed his partner, this time eliciting only applause and, Eugene noted, several looks from both ladies and gentlemen that he might just mention to his lover later. A riled Kris was always _fun!_

“I really didn't think we would pull it off with that moron Major losing just about everywhere”, he said. “At least I'll have a quiet life as a backbencher for the next five years.”

“Maybe not”, Kris pointed out. “The Conservatives have lost so many seats you may end up in the Cabinet. So before that happens I'd better take you home and once again enjoy fucking a politician!”

Behind them their twins Cholmondeley and Chatton, now with families of their own, were once again making vomiting motions. Some things did not change.

֍


	5. Chapter 5

_(Ivan Watson, forty-eight, is the great-grandson of Samuel Watson (1856-1946)._

**1998**

**Heathrow Airport, London, England**

Ivan was sure that there were worse things in the world than flying British Airways into this concrete hell-hole. And the fact that he'd come back from the United States with his late Uncle Dane's things – well, the few things he'd left the family – in a second case had made security look at him as if he were some form of terrorist!

His father had wanted to fly out himself but his health and an absolute terror of flying had ruled that out, so Ivan had taken time off to fly out for the funeral. His uncle had wanted to be laid to rest in the States but he had left certain personal possessions to various family members, thankfully all small things. And Ivan had met Costentyn Irons, the man who had loved his uncle for the past six decades. A short and unprepossessing guy, but when he had spoken of Dane Watson he had lit up almost magically.

The two renegades had lived in a rural town in Illinois which had made Ivan's flight even longer, but he felt that at least he had done his duty. Costentyn had made one unusual request of him; he had asked that when he himself passed that if his lawyers sent them over, would Ivan bury both their promise-rings in the garden of the Sussex cottage where they had first met? Fortunately Ivan's cousin Sherlock still lived there so he had been able to promise that he would do that.

Love, he thought as he walked across the concourse towards his waiting wife and sons. I hope you're happy now Uncle Dane, though I suspect you won't truly be in Heaven until your man joins you.

֍

_Postscriptum: Dane Watson did not have to wait long; Costentyn Irons outlived him by a little under a year. His nephew duly fulfilled his request._

֍


	6. Chapter 6

_(The two Tobias Hawkes in this story are the son (thirty-three) and grandson (thirteen) of the current Baron Harry Hawke II (fifty-five) in the first story in this section and therefore the great-great-great-grandson and great-great-great-great-grandson of the original Sherlock respectively)._

**1999**

**Brunton Hall, Collingbourne Kingston, Wiltshire, England**

Young Tobias Hawke watched impatiently as his father walked past picture after picture. He had only asked why he had such a boring name that half his ancestors had used already and the old man had dragged him up to the gallery without saying why. Parents!

Lord Tobias Hawke found what he was looking for and they stood before an old portrait showing a handsome young fellow in what looked like Victorian clothing. Although it seemed perfectly normal it made the boy feel cold for some reason and he shuddered.

“It had that effect on me too the first time I saw it”, his father said knowingly. “That was the second Lord Tobias, the ninth Lord Hawke. He died in 1862, less than a year after they did that picture.”

“Why?” his son asked. “He looks so young.”

“He was engaged to be married but his bride-to-be eloped with another man”, Lord Tobias said. “The scandal was terrible; you know what those times were like having done them at school. He committed suicide as a result.”

His son stared curiously at the picture.

“He looks very much like grandfather does over there”, he said looking across to the portrait of the second and current Barons Hawke. “But the family tree below says that he had no sons.”

“He should look like your grandfather”, his father said. “In that last terrible year he had an affair and a son Harry – Lord Harry III, my great-great-grandfather - was the result.”

The boy frowned.

“But our title cannot pass down illegitimate lines”, he objected.

“Arrangements were made that the boy be passed off as Lord Tobias' sister's Mary's child”, his father explained. “She could not have children of her own but no-one knew that apart from her and her husband, so they got away with it. And her sister Elizabeth was married to someone quite awful. Our family's guardian angel Mr. Sherlock Holmes helped to prevent the secret from ever coming out.”

The boy looked again at the portrait.

“I hope that he is happy now”, he said. “Thank you father. I hope that some day soon I will be a worthy Baron Tobias.”

His father ruffled his son's hair, then realized something.

“Oi! Wait your damn turn!”

He led his son away from the dusty gallery. The smile on the face of their namesake's portrait was, if there had been anyone to notice it, ever so slightly wider.

֍


End file.
